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Hurricane Katrina Briefs………
“Those _ _ _ _ Yankees!” By: Colonel Dawn Astin
The atmosphere was eerie and quiet. Our path was plastered with dried mud. Mud
that was contaminated with feces, petroleum oil, and other toxic matter. Debris
lined the sidewalks and yards and ended in a large pile that was impassable at
the end of the street. Each home with its blackened moldy interior and exterior
stain-lines was a constant reminder of watery destruction from several weeks
previous, as Hurricane Katrina ripped through the area surrounding the gulf
states of Louisiana and Mississippi. We were in an upper middle class community
called
Then we saw what we were looking for. People! A shiny car! We maneuvered the
Disaster Relief Unit towards them. A woman stood on the sidewalk in knee boots,
gloves and face mask, while her husband repeatedly went in and out of the home.
“Ma’am would you like a cold bottle of water and a hot meal?” asked the driver
of our team. “Oh, yes,” she replied. “You’re the best thing I’ve seen in 2
weeks. Ya’ll look like angels to me! Look at my home, look at my community!” At
that moment she could no longer hold back the tears. She removed her mask and
they began to pour down her cheeks. The men on our team called for Deb and I to
come outside of the DR unit, which we did, and took this emotionally broken
woman into our arms. We listened to her, allowed her to pour her heart out to
us. Soon we were all weeping together.
At that moment it was no longer what side of the Mason/Dixon line you were from, it wasn’t between the North and the South, it wasn’t who was black or white, it wasn’t who was the Yankee or the Rebel; it was all about “People Helping People.” |
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Lakeview, a suburb of New Orleans, looking for someone, anyone who had
been allowed to come back. Back to what they once called “home.” Each street
looked like the previous one; utter shambles. Telephone poles were bent to the
ground and wires were going everywhere. Our team became quiet as we surveyed the
severe damage of home after home, street after street. We could hardly believe
our eyes. Yes, we had seen it on TV, but to experience the physical presence of
the vast destruction was overwhelming even to the strongest personality. Between
the humidity, the temperature and the odor, it almost felt like we were in hell.
How long we stood there in the mud and
held her, I do not know. After she felt verbally cleansed from all the pent-up
emotions she had been through, her attention turned to us and she began to ask
questions. “How did you get in here?” she said. We informed her that military
personnel had waved us through when they saw our vehicle with its bold artwork,
scripture and flashing lights. “Where are you from?” she asked. Without
hesitation we heartily responded, “Washington DC, Connecticut and Pennsylvania!”
Her eyes widened, her jaw dropped and she said, “You’re kidding!” We said, “No,
why?” Her next words will remain with me forever. Red faced, teary eyed and in
true earnestness she responded “I’ll never say “those damn Yankees” again!”